


Culinary Arts

by Aisalynn



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Coulson and Skye flirt a lot, F/M, Fluff, Post-Season/Series 02, Prompt Fill, and a little angst, and starts acting stupid, and then Coulson has a realization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-24
Updated: 2015-09-24
Packaged: 2018-04-23 04:13:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,206
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4862705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisalynn/pseuds/Aisalynn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mack and Hunter are late coming back from a mission. Coulson and Skye try to distract themselves from worrying by fixing dinner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Culinary Arts

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt fill from tumbler: Agents of shield prompt of Skye and Coulson just waiting for the team to get back and they find them in the kitchen cooking or something, maybe Coulson is showing her how to cook or something?
> 
>    
> This was supposed to be a short drabble, but it got away from me. Oh, and as a side note, the meal they make here is a recipe I found a year or so ago and now make all the time. It is delicious.

The Playground was almost silent as Coulson walked through it. Empty. It was only around 7 in the evening, and time was the base would be filled with the sound of his agents getting ready for dinner, bickering in the kitchen over the last of the milk or whose turn it was to make dinner, but not tonight. May had yet to return from her leave, Bobbi was recovering outside of the base so she could have access to a physical therapist, Mack and Hunter were both out on assignment and Simmons…

Well, her bright laughter and cheerful pancakes haven’t been in the kitchen for months.

Fitz didn’t leave the lab, didn’t eat unless someone put food in front of him and made him aware of it, too focused on Simmons’ disappearance, obsessed with finding something, _anything,_ that could lead him to answers on how to get her back.

So apart from himself that just left--

“Shit!” The curse could be heard clearly through the open doorway, followed immediately by the sound of something--several things--crashing and falling.

Coulson made his way into the kitchen and surveyed the damage. Skye was standing in front of the open pantry, hands on her hips, frowning at the mess of cans and snack boxes scattered on the floor at her feet.

He held back a chuckle at the sight. “Maybe you shouldn’t shake apart our kitchen,” he said mildly.

She shot him a look over her shoulder. “Very funny. But this wasn’t me. _This_ \--” she started pick up the mess, stacking cans and cardboard boxes in her arms and transferring them haphazardly back on the shelves. “this was Hunter. I swear he does it on purpose. Every time it’s his turn to go get groceries something like this happens.” She shoved a box of popcorn into place with a particularly vicious thrust. “He booby traps it.”

Coulson briefly recalled a precarious stack of canned rolls falling on his feet as he reached past them to get the milk in the fridge--cans that just happened to be hiding a new six pack of Hunter’s favorite beer—and smiled. “I think you’re right,” he told her as he bent to help her pick up the rest of the food.

“Speaking of,” Skye’s tone changed from exasperated fondness to concern. “Any word?”

He shook his head. “Still nothing.”

Mack and Hunter were due back 3 hours ago. It wasn’t unusual for an agent to be late back from an assignment--practically par for the course, actually--but they haven’t been able to reach them through comms or phone either.

She didn’t say anything as she placed the last can of tomato juice on the shelf, but there was a small line of worry between her eyes.

“There’s no reason to worry yet,” he reassured her. “There’s several reasons why they would have to go dark. And protocol states that we wait--”

“--at least eight hours before starting any rescue measures. I know.” She smiled tightly as she finished the sentence, one hand reaching up to impatiently push her hair out of her face. “I just don’t like the waiting part.”

Coulson looked past her to the disorganized shelves of food. “Neither do I,” he said grimly. Especially since the assignment they were on was a worrisome one. Contacts of his had let on about a rumor that Hydra wasn’t as dead as they thought it was. Old Hydra agents were becoming active again, reaching out to each other and recruiting new members, which could mean only one thing: Hydra had found itself a new head.

Mack and Hunter were sent out to try to glean just who this new head might be, and despite what he had said to reassure Skye, Coulson couldn’t help obsessing on just all the things that could have gone drastically wrong in the six and half hours since their last report came in.

Skye let out a sigh beside him. “Well, anyway. I need to eat. What about you, AC? Hungry?”

His lips twitched at familiar nickname, one she hadn’t used in a long time. He had pointed out to her once that he was now _Director_ Coulson, and so it should be changed to DC, but Skye had wrinkled her nose at that, told him that she couldn’t say that without thinking of the city so he had to remain AC despite the title change. He was fine with that. He could admit, DC just didn’t have the same ring to it.

“I could eat,” he told her, crossing his arms as he leaned against the counter.

“Alright then,” she rubbed her hands together. “I’ll tell ya, I make a mean peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich.”

Coulson couldn’t help but grimace at the thought. “I’m sure we can do something better than that.”

She shrugged. “ _You_ maybe. Me not so much. Not a lot of opportunity to practice the culinary arts in a van.”

Once, Coulson might have been surprised at the lack of bitterness you would expect to hear in a statement like that, but he had long since learned that Skye didn’t resent the time she lived in a van. That van meant freedom for her, and it was a place that belonged only to her. Coulson couldn’t forget the day that he had to tell her the van was destroyed when SHIELD fell. He vividly remembered the brief expression of pain and dismay that flashed across her face before she closed up, hiding under a look of calm acceptance. A look Coulson had no doubt had been born of practice.

Another home lost.

Coulson pushed away the memory and turned back to the pantry full of food. “Well, tonight’s a good time to learn.” He pulled out a box of penne noodles and flashed her a smile. “Pasta should be easy enough.”

She gave a casual shrug, the ends of her now shorter hair to brushing lightly against her shoulders. “Sounds good to me.”

They worked side by side at the counter, Skye stepping away to search for ingredients he told her they needed: parmesan, heavy cream, garlic, onion, and the red and yellow peppers that Coulson had specifically asked Hunter to pick up. They even lucked out and found a can of chipotle peppers and Coulson took a moment to be thankful for Bobbi’s love of spicy food.

“You’ll have to chop the vegetables,” he told her, a wry smile twisting his lips as he gestured with his new prosthetic arm. It was state of the art--Stark technology, of course, and it hadn’t been easy getting a hold of it without letting either Tony or Pepper know that he was alive--but he’d had it for less than a week and even the best technology in the world had a learning curve to it.

She grabbed a red pepper and started slicing. “Like this?”

Coulson peered over her shoulder. “Mm…” he nodded. “A little smaller.”

He poured a couple tablespoons worth of olive oil in the pan on the stove and then started seasoning the chicken while he waited for it get hot, listening to the steady sound of the knife hitting the cutting board as Skye worked on the vegetables.

“So where did you learn to cook, anyway?” she asked after a few minutes.

He dipped the chicken breasts in a mixture of lemon juice and honey before dropping them in the pan. They hit the hot oil with a satisfying sizzle. “I learned a little from my mother. Spaghetti, pot roast,” he caught her eyes with a smile “those peanut butter cookies you liked so much.”

The knife hit the side of the counter with a clank. “Wait you _made_ those? I thought you bought them from a bakery or something.”

“Nope. Mom’s recipe.”

“Huh.” She still looked surprised, staring down at the diced pepper as she processed the information. He supposed it was surprising. Phil Coulson, serious Director of SHIELD and baking homemade cookies were two concepts that probably didn’t seem like they went together. She wasn’t the first to think so. Even Audrey had been surprised when he first baked them for her, though she hadn’t devoured them like Skye had. Her favorite had been the raspberry thumb print cookies he made for Christmas.

He didn’t say anything for minute, flipping the chicken over in the pan. The thought of Audrey didn’t hurt as much as it used to. He’d gotten used to it, the feeling of helpless anger and resentment he felt at the thought of everything he had missed with her, everything he could have had. It was a surprise to realize that those emotions were gone, and that what remained was a much softer fondness, almost nostalgia. Despite the excitement of his life as a SHIELD agent—finding and recruiting the people who were to become The Avengers—his time with Audrey seemed like part of a much simpler time.

Another life.

Skye nudged him with her elbow. “Hey. You okay?”

He looked over at her. She’d paused in her chopping, a half peeled onion in her hand. He thought she looked so different now from the young girl who would hack SHIELD’s system from an old van in the alley behind a diner. It wasn’t just the hair. She carried herself differently: more confidently, sure of herself and her place in the world, as an Agent of SHIELD and now as Inhuman, fully accepting of the power that had come with her heritage. They were both different from the people they were when they first met, but the look of concern on her face—the furrowed brow and the slight downturn to her mouth—was the same.

Coulson smiled softly. “Yeah. I am.”

In fact, he was more relaxed now than he had been all night. The time spent cooking with Skye in the kitchen doing more to distract him from obsessing about Mack and Hunter than all the paperwork he had been forcing himself to do back in his office.

She smiled back at him, a little quizzically. “Okay... Good. How much onion should I cut?”

“About half,” he instructed. “And you know what,” he walked over to the pantry. “I think I have some wine here that will go great with this.”

“Ooo, wine. This meal is getting fancy.”

“Well don’t get too excited, it’s a pretty cheap bottle. You should stir the pasta while I’m over here.”

The wine was on the top shelf, hidden behind Bobbi’s tequila and a half empty bottle of spiced rum. He gently pushed them out of the way so he could grab it, and when he turned around he saw Skye holding her hand out toward the pot on the stove, fingers splayed and her face schooled into an expression of concentration. The pasta in the boiler water swirled around the pot in a tiny whirlpool.

“You’re getting better,” he observed. He placed the bottle in the freezer to chill and then pulled out two wine glasses from the cupboard.

She flashed him a smile. “Haven’t made anything explode in weeks. I think I could even make music notes with the wine glasses again without destroying them now.” She made a gun shape with her hand and pointed it at him, cocking it back as she made a clicking noise in the back of her throat. “Precision.”

“Be that as it may, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try it tonight. These are the only two we have left.” He placed the wine glasses by the wine and walked back over to the stove.

They continued cooking. He showed her how to prepare the garlic—smashing the cloves with the flat of the blade before putting them into the garlic crusher and when the chicken was done they sautéed the vegetables in the same pan with honey and a touch of chipotle sauce. As she added the heavy cream and parmesan to the pan he told her about the cooking classes he took.

“I’ve always had an appreciation for good food—“ Skye snorted through her nose, smothering a laugh and Coulson grinned, well aware of his reputation as a food snob. “—so it only made sense to learn how to make it myself.”

“Well you must have aced the class,” Skye said as she stirred the quickly thickening sauce. “’Cause this smells amazing.”

“You did half the work,” he reminded her. “I think the sauce is done. Go ahead and add the pasta to the pan. I’ll pour the wine.”

“I think the bottle opener in one of those drawers over there.” She gestured vaguely to the other side of the counter.

“That’s okay,” he said breezily as he pulled the wine out of the freezer, “I don’t need it.” He held the wine bottle firmly in his right hand and reached for the top with his left, the black fingers of the prosthetic gripping the edge of the cork. He enjoyed Skye’s look of impressed surprise as he smoothly pulled the cork out, the strength of his new hand making it easy. He poured the wine and smirked as he handed her the glass. “You’re not the only one with a few new tricks.”

“I guess not.” She took a sip, and her eyes drifted shut for a second as she appreciated the taste. “Mmm. This is good. Even if it is cheap.” The smile she gave him was soft and teasing and he had to look away, focus on pouring his own glass.

“I thought you might like it,” was all he said.

They divided up the food, spooning the pasta onto the plate and adding the sliced chicken breast on top. Coulson quickly sliced some of the French bread they just bought, putting a thick slice on each plate, and then they made their way to the table.

Skye hummed as she ate. “This is so good. Wow.”

He nodded in agreement, mouth full of pasta. It _had_ turned out well, the heat of the chipotle coupling perfectly with the sweet taste of the honey and cream sauce. He followed the bite with a sip of wine. “Now you can at least make one meal to impress people with,” he teased.

“So that’s what you were doing, huh?” She pointed her fork at him, smiling. “Trying to impress me with your cooking?”

Coulson paused, thoughtful. It was true that this wasn’t the most impressive dish he could make. When he first started seeing Audrey he had made chicken with homemade basil oil, topped with prosciutto, and expensive cuts of steak drizzled with a red wine mushroom sauce. He made meals with courses, drawing the evening out for hours as they worked their way up to desert, which was never anything as so… _unsophisticated_ as peanut butter cookies. But he could see how Skye would see it that way--the wine, the teasing conversation, the way they stood close together as they cooked, arms and shoulders brushing as he showed her what do. They were even sitting close together, sharing the corner of the table instead of sitting directly across from each other, legs brushing as they ate.

Looking back at their evening like this, Coulson would almost call it a date.

Huh.

The thought stuck in his mind. Dating Skye. It wasn’t something that had occurred to him before, but now that it had…

He thought about the way they talked to each other. With anyone else, he would have called it flirting. In fact, that’s exactly what it was; he just hadn’t realized it before. He’d always enjoyed the time he spent with Skye, but lately it had become more than that. He breathed easier when she was around him, relaxing in a way he couldn’t with anyone else. And when she was on assignment without him… Well, there was a reason why it seemed like everyone started to tiptoe around him when she was gone.

Coulson swallowed thickly, staring down at her hand on the table. He wanted to take it in his own, trace his fingers around her wrist and along the inside of her forearm, smooth his hand over the skin that he still vividly remembered being covered in bruises. This wasn’t the first time he had felt that urge.

_Oh._

“Coulson?”

Skye’s voice pulled him from his thoughts with a jolt, and he realized he hadn’t said anything for a while. Slowly, he looked up from her wrist to meet her eyes. She had that look on her face again. The same searching, concerned look she seemed to save only for him. His stomach clenched.

He took a shaky breath. “Skye,” he started, not even sure what he was going to say. “I—“

“Well, I hope you guys made enough for us!”

His jerked in surprise at the words and Skye shot up from her seat, launching herself across the kitchen. “Mack! Hunter! You’re back!”

They were both in the doorway, Hunter leaning tiredly against the doorframe, Mack’s hand braced against his shoulder for support. Hunter had a dark bruise around his left eye, and had obviously been bleeding down his left arm. Mack had a small, bloody tear on the jeans above his left knee and was holding his wrist awkwardly, like it hurt.

Coulson used the moment that Sky took to gingerly hug them both to compose himself. Then stood up.

“So things didn’t go quite as planned, I see.”

“Understatement,” Hunter drawled. “But we made it out alive.”

“We’ve got some important information for you though,” Mack said seriously, eyes flickering from Coulson to Skye. “About Hydra’s new head.”

Coulson nodded. “And we’ll go over it. But first you guys should get patched up. We’ll meet for debriefing in twenty minutes.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to wait longer?” Hunter asked as he looked over to the table they were sitting, eyebrows rising as he eyed the wine glasses. “It looks like we interrupted…something.”

“ _No_ ,” he said, too sharply. “We’re done anyway.” He ignored the confused look Skye shot him and compulsively straightened his suit jacket. “Meet me in twenty minutes. I’ll be in my office.”

He avoided looking at Skye as he walked swiftly out of the kitchen.

This wasn’t good, he thought as he made his way back to his office. He’d known for a long time now just how important Skye was to him, but this… This was completely different.

When he reached the safety of his office he quickly shut the door closed behind him and leaned his head back against the wood, letting out a long, slow breath. He closed his eyes.

During all the years he had focused on being the perfect SHIELD agent, working his way up the levels, he had often been accused of having no real emotions--or at least deliberately cutting himself off from them--but he couldn’t believe that he actually failed to notice that he had fallen in love.

His stomach twisted at the thought, and despite the fact that he had only a few bites of the pasta, any trace of the hunger that had driven him to the kitchen in first place was gone.

  



End file.
